


Spun

by sfiddy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, In Character, Missing Scene, Rumbelle - Freeform, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They rotate around each other like celestial bodies- influencing, orbiting, but never touching.  Until they crash.  Moments I imagine from both FairyTale Land as well as Storybrooke with eventual resolution.  No drama, no battle, just fun.  </p><p>Rated T until chapter 8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stacked Deck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreyii_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyii_fic/gifts), [Flameysaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flameysaur/gifts).



Belle watched as Rumpelstiltskin shuffled the cards. The cards flipped and blurred with a life of their own with only the slightest guidance, settling into a tidy stack in front of her.  


“Well, dearie?”  


“Well what?”  


He rolled his eyes. “Cut the deck.”  


She reached out and split the deck and sat back again. “I wasn’t aware that playing cards would be part of my duties.”  


“I’m adjusting the agreement.” He squared the alignment of the cards and started to deal.  


Belle tilted her head. “Why?”  


Rumpelstiltskin stopped mid-deal. “I was bored. Ran out of babies to skin. Thought we might kill some time before I go steal a soul.”  


Belle shook her head. It was hard tell whether he was trying to be funny or horrifying. “You could always take up gardening. Maybe painting?” She glanced at the wheel in the corner. “You could spin.”  


“I always spin.” He set down the remainder of the deck and picked up his cards. “Didn’t feel like it tonight.”  


Belle followed his lead and picked up her cards. She still didn’t know what game they were playing. “You wanted someone to talk to.”  


“I wanted a distraction that did not involve desperate princelings, their foul mothers or fouler mother-in-laws.” He fiddled his cards into an order that pleased him and sat forward with a hop. “I’m going to teach you a new game. I say new, but it’s very, very old. What do you say, dearie?”  


“Alright. How do you play?”  


“Ah. First you need to know the purpose of the cards. First are the numbered cards. They are your pawns. I recommend that you rank them in your hand. Their symbols are less important than their value, but some versions of the game use them.”  


Belle moved her cards around and was left with a number of other cards. They were not so unlike those she grew up with, but the pictures were different and there were a few more types.  


“All sorted? Good. Now you have your face cards. Each is ranked and the types matter. There are the diamonds, hearts, clubs, and spades. If you are quite lucky, or unlucky as the case may be, you have another which we’ll come to in a moment. Group them by type and rank: knave, maid, queen, and king.”  


Belle did so and was left with cards painted with miniature landscapes and structures. “Okay. Now what?”  


“Now you have your lands. You may play as many cards per turn as you have land cards, and if you have certain combinations, you can capture your opponent’s land cards and play more per turn. Different combinations of lands or castles allow for different combinations of play. Is this clear?”  


“I think so. How do you decide who plays first?”  


Rumpelstiltskin sniggered. “If you are an adolescent boy you see who can hold their breath the longest, but I think we’ll just roll for it, shall we?” He held out his palm and a carved cube appeared in a puff of vapor. He tossed it onto the table.  


“I have a four.” The cube nudged itself to her and she rolled it.  


“A three.”  


“Bad luck, dearie, because I have the other type of face card.” He set a terrifyingly gruesome image down on the table with a snap. “This is the Joker.” Rumpelstiltskin said with an introductory flourish. “He is a wily character, this one. His function modifies to suit gameplay with few restrictions. There is only one per deck, and he can hold sway over the rest of the deck. He can change the type of lands in the opponent’s hand, which weakens that player’s control over their hand, and he is capable of allowing its holder to reverse attacks.” Rumpelstiltskin grinned in mocking triumph.  


Belle picked up the card and examined the awful picture. The creature had sharp teeth, a pointy hat, a bulbous jaw and demented coloration that was stomach churning. This card was meant to intimidate. Then she set it down and saw it from another angle and saw a shape emerge from that face. An idea came to her. “Wait, there are no all-powerful cards in a deck. How do you beat this one?”  


Rumpelstiltskin clucked his tongue. “Ahhh, very good. Only one card can stop him and it must be played before another action is taken. He is vulnerable to just one card, which is the-“  


Belle set a card down on the table and sat back.  


He stared silently.  


“Did I get it right?”  


“Yes.” Rumpelstiltskin stood, leaving his cards on the table. “Do you understand why?”  


Belle watched him as he walked slowly around the table. “Not exactly.”  


“Tell me.”  


She took a breath as he stood over her, tabulating her every move. “The pawns would hold no sway over the Joker, they are just cannon fodder. The land cards are inert. The knaves are for strikes, so he would only reverse the blows. The kings are the match-enders, but not strategic. The queens are for trading and strategy.”  


“And the maids?” He said softly.  


She glanced up. “No one expects the maids to be powerful.”  


“Indeed not, dearie.” He leaned over slightly. “And why is that?”  


Belle felt flushed and her skin prickled. “He has no need for treasure, can already manipulate the powerful, and does not care for authority.” She felt a faint brush over her shoulder. “So the maid of hearts is the only one left who might have influence over him.”  


“And why do you think that is?” He spoke into her ear.  


“I…um…” Belle stammered, his breath on her skin.  


“Never mind.” He said, standing up and striding toward the other end of the table. “Look, Belle. Your kna- pardon me, rose is quite lovely today.” He stroked a petal and turned the vase to show its best side to her. “I’m going to spin now. Bring tea in an hour.”  


“Don’t you want to play again?” Belle asked, gathering the cards into a neat pile again. When she looked at the Joker card upside down, the face resembled a heart.  


Rumpelstiltskin turned. “I think not. When I am bested that quickly, I am careful to avoid taking the risk again.” He waved her away with a flick of his hand and settled at his wheel.


	2. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A treacherous stairwell and misdirection. Coping with ourselves and how we see through other's eyes.

Rumpelstiltskin held the candelabra aloft. “Watch your step, dearie. Wouldn’t want you to take a tumble, would we?”

Belle gripped the drippy wall as she followed him down the steep steps into the cellar. Even with the light from the candles, the narrow stairwell was ominous. “Do you have any particular preferences? I could maybe help you pick out something.” 

He glanced over his shoulder, candlelight glinting off his eyes. “Time I spend here generally isn’t devoted to the wine cellar.” 

She nearly stumbled. 

“Oh, calm down.” He chided. “I have potions, ingredients and salves as well as a root cellar down here. Mind that you don’t go mixing them all up. You might have a nasty… complication.”

“Erm… maybe something your guest might like?” Belle calmed and walked more carefully. “Where is your friend from?”

The candelabra flared as Rumpelstiltskin flung his head back and laughed. “My ‘friend’ is the most vicious slag to ever mutter a spell. If you think I’m a horrible monster, then you better brace yourself because at least I’m honest.”

Belle stopped and stayed put as walked on. He slowed, presuming that she would recover and hurry to catch up, but she remained planted to her stair.

“If you’re feeling as though I’ve slighted some delicate lady of the higher classes, your sympathy could not have found a worse target, dearie.”

“No.”

He turned and held up the candelabra, and took one step up. “Are you scared?”

Belle held her chin up. “No.”

“You should be. Then what the devil is your problem? All I want is to pick out some horrid bottle, dust it off, and dump something awful in it so I can enjoy watching her face as she has to swallow it. I know what she’s here for, and she wouldn’t dare offend me.” 

She looked directly into those eyes. “I don’t think that at all.”

For the briefest instant, Rumpelstiltskin’s face relaxed, then the moment was gone. “Try me, dearie.” He teased, and began to turn to descend the last few stairs. The edges of a room were picking up stray tendrils of light below. “I was thinking rotten turnips or perhaps ogre paste...” He started reciting a disgusting list.

“That’s not what I meant.” Belle interrupted.

Rumpelstiltskin flung the candelabra to the floor. “Then what did you mean?” 

The narrow passage was plunged into darkness. Belle was quite certain he could see her perfectly clearly, but she was uncertain of where her hands were in relation to the railing anymore. Her heart pounded as she heard the creak of leather and the swish of velvet draw near.

“You know exactly what I meant.” She groped for the wall. “Now help me to see or –Oh!” Her hand slipped without purchase along the wall and her feet tangled with a cracked board. She tumbled in space and did her best to protect her face from what she was certain would be either stone or splintered wood.

Instead, her head pillowed gently onto velvet and her hands gripped leather. Strong, wiry arms had her round the shoulders and waist, solidly anchoring her away from harm. Her breath was coming fast, but the fear of injury was being replaced with restless awareness. Neither spoke, and they knew they only had seconds before this was no longer a rescue.

The characteristic mockery he spoke with tempered. “Are you…well?” He still held her.

“Let me check my ankle. Don’t let go.”

“Never.”

When she was sure she could bear her weight, she stood pushed against his shoulders gently to right herself. He took longer than necessary to release her arms. 

“Well, Maybe I should just stay here until you get a candle?” Belle started to fold her skirts beneath her to sit upon the stair, but Rumpelstiltskin stopped her.

“Ah-ah.” He snapped his fingers and the room below burst forth light and a row of torches blossomed flames along the wall she’d been clinging to. As he skipped down the stairs he nudged the broken candles aside with his boot.

Belle gave Rumpelstiltskin a half-serious glare. “Why did you bother bringing that ridiculous candelabra? I spent an hour polishing it and now it’s bent and on the floor!”

Rumpelstiltskin spun in front of the rows of bottles. “You know me, dearie.” He sang to her. “I just love theatrics.”

When he was finished, Belle followed him back up the stairs, pausing at the cellar door as she closed it as he carried his bottle off to his workroom for tampering. She whispered, just to herself to hear the words and know they were true. “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Suddenly he was in front of her, eyes empty of mirth and teasing but full of something more alien to him, something so human.

“I know.”


	3. Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumplestiltskin changes his outlook.

There weren’t many reminders left of the life he’d led prior to this one. Design, happy coincidence, and time had made sure of that, and whatever remained was faded by patina.

He still spun. Ever the craftsman.

The soft creak and beat of the wood was hypnotic, and he rather liked the flamboyant touch of spinning the precious from the mundane. It was certainly an improvement over lanolin stains.

 _Spin, spin, spin._ Forget. 

Today was different. There was a beam of light in his great hall and a partially cleaned window glittering in place of a dusty old tapestry. A wedge, opening a new space and forcing the mass it penetrated to widen, creating room for itself. 

The wedge returned with a bucket of fresh water.

“You’ve turned your spinning wheel!” Belle set her things down and wiped her brow.

All the better to see you with, dearie. “The light helps me spin.”

“Well, it’ll get even easier once I’ve scrubbed the glass. I’ll try to by quiet so you can concentrate.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded and waved her off with the usual flick of his wrist. It was nothing to keep the wheel turning without paying much attention to it, and the repetitive noises it made were part of the fabric of life to Belle. As long as the sound was consistent, he could watch. 

She wiped the upper panes methodically, just breaking up the worst of the greasy dust before moving on. When she finished a section, she came down the ladder, got a fresh rag, and climbed back up to truly clean them, then dried with a third, clean cloth.

It was fascinating.

Her exposed ankles, heaving bosom, and flushed cheeks had nothing to do with it. Nor did her soft humming, in time to the sound of his wheel, hold any charm for him. 

She left the room, carrying her buckets with her, and returned with a mop. She wiped away the sloshed water and carried that away, too.

“Oh!” She exclaimed softly as she prodded the fire. “You’re about to run out of straw.” She set the poker back and left the room. When she returned with a loaded basket he indeed was feeding the last few bits to the needle. As his hand emptied, she gently settled a bundle into it so he didn’t even have to get up from the wheel. Her fingers brushed his wrist as she did so.

“Thank you.” For both.

“I have to mend your cuffs again. Honestly, if you didn’t have such heavy work on them, they wouldn’t need so much maintenance.” 

“I like the weight.” At least, he would. Given the chance to feel it.

“What color would you like me to add?” Belle held up the heavy linen, spreading the cuff so he could examine the rich embroidery.

He grinned. “Gold. I can spin the thread now.”

Belle set the shirt on the back half of his bench. “Alright. I’ll start tea and bring it in before I get started.”

His wheel was one meant for a master and apprentice, so the bench was longer than most. It also allowed the user to access a larger workbench by simply sliding along the polished wood. When used by two, the master could either demonstrate by being in front, or guide from behind. Bae was just starting to sit in front when… _spin, spin, spin._

When Belle returned, she didn’t have the tea ready, but brought the tray and kettle to set by the fire in the hall. Rumpelstiltskin had several feet of slender gold thread made already, so she settled herself behind him with her needles and threaded one with it, effectively tethering him by her side.

Proximity, and all its implications.

Belle smiled up at him. “This is lovely thread.” She settled in, her elbow brushing his back from time to time, still humming her breathy tune to his rhythm.

He’ll be damaging every single one of his cuffs from now on. His cuffs will sparkle with ostentation. 

Somewhere along the line, Milah stopped mending his shirts. _Spin, spin, spin, spin._

But now Belle did, at his side, touching him, with tea halfway made and sunlight streaming across the room.

Belle stood and set the kettle on the fire. When she sat again, the thread was loose and caught on his trouser leg. 

“Oops.” She swept a hand across his thigh and retrieved it, not noticing the scorch mark she left in her wake. He spun and kept the thread as thin as he could so her stitches could be small. When the kettle whistled she stretched and brushed against him again. “I need a cup. Look, I’ve finished one cuff!”

It was exquisite. Heavier and more decadent than it was before, and in no way all the more perfect because she’d done it herself. Only wives and lovers did work like that.

“Shall I pour?”

“Of course, dearie.” He drank his tea quickly. He couldn’t _wait_ for the second cuff.


	4. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The care of objects indicates certain things about the owner and handler.

Rumpelstiltskin was in an odd mood. He watched Belle as she dusted his displayed collection in the hall and his main room. Rather than merely flipping a duster, she was dipping a soft cloth in water, wringing it nearly dry, and carefully wiping the dust away to avoid redistributing it around the room. 

It was repetitive but he found he could not stop watching as her hands moved over and caressed each object with the cloth, inspected it for streaks, dried them, then set it back into the position he himself had chosen. She was done with the main cabinet and was halfway through the pedestals when he abruptly stopped the wheel and dropped his straw.

“I’d like tea. Here.”

Startled, she looked up. “Now?”

“Quick as you like, dearie. Unless your rags hold greater appeal than repast.”

Belle tossed her rags into the bucket and left to make tea, erasing herself from the room. She still hadn’t moved a thing since she entered into service there. She returned with the tray and set his favorite cup in front of him and prepared the tea.

A question formed in her mind. “Why do you prefer a chipped cup? Don’t you worry it will scratch you?”

He took it after it was filled and breathed the steam. “Look around this room, Belle. You as well as anyone living know the treasures I possess. I have the finest collection of flawless silver. I have a case full of jewels that are the envy of any king or queen. I have chalices hewn by master craftsmen that don’t even appear to have been touched by human hands and my walls are covered in paintings that belong in chapels, temples, and palaces.” He stood and retrieved an ornate chalice from a pedestal and held it up next to his cup. “Your hands have wiped the dust off the treasures that dragons covet and kings would go to war for. But do you know what they all lack?”

Belle glanced at the cup, her response both a question and an answer reflecting in her eyes.

Rumpelstiltskin vanished the contents of the cup and examined it closely alongside the chalice. “They lack imperfection. Imperfection is the product of possession.”

Belle chafed. “It could also be the product of humanity. I broke that cup. That doesn’t mean you own the break. It was an accident.”

“One might say you broke it in for me.” The tea reappeared in the cup and he held it aloft in salute. “Many thanks.”

She laughed and hopped up on the table to put sugar in her tea. “I’ll do my best not to make a complete matching set.” Belle swung her feet slightly and gave him a thoughtful frown. “And I’m not sure possession means something is ruined. It just means that something is owned.”

He pushed back his chair and walked around the table to the tray and sat on the table with her, setting the chalice at her hip. “Proper ownership means that the item is deemed to have value. Valuable things are prized.” He leaned forward and took the sugar tongs from her. “Things that are prized are cherished.”

Belle, unwittingly, had leaned forward as he did. Heat flushed her face. “Value is perceived. Something cherished by one may be worthless to another.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes flickered to her lips for a fraction of a second. He brushed his hand along the table and flicked the chalice onto the floor, while holding his cup to his chest. “I place value very, very carefully, Belle.” He raised the steaming cup and took a sensuously slow sip. Her eyes followed every move.

He stared back openly.

A loud knock startled Belle and she leapt from the table. “Oh, dear. You have a, uh, guest. I’ll just get another cup and make more um… tea.” She bumped the chalice with her foot as she walked backwards, pink-cheeked and fidgety. 

His eyes firmly planted on her as she left the room, Rumpelstiltskin vowed to make the hardest deal for whomever had interrupted.


	5. Flush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle's wandering mind, and a little audacity.

Belle spent the morning making the best of the bruised light in the castle. It simply wasn’t bright enough to do handwork, and she liked bright sunlight to polish and dust by, so she hitched up her skirts a few inches and set out a series of buckets in the entry hall. Mopping floors properly was no quick task.

It begged the question, where along the way had she figured out the best way to do these menial jobs? And why? The floors were never truly dirty, and Rumpelstiltskin only truly demanded a very few tasks be done with her hands. Domestic tasks. The kind of tasks that could be done very swiftly and impersonally, or with great care and affection.

Gold embroidered cuffs, for instance. 

She heaved the water-laden mop out of the first bucket and started working a path from the passages towards the entry door. As she dirtied the water, the buckets came with her and could be dumped out when she made her way all the way to the door. She was sweating and sticky by the time she reached the door and hauled the buckets out one at a time to splash on the few bushes and flowers hardy enough to grow and bloom at Dark Castle.

The floor would dry in an hour and while it did, she could start the supper and warm water for much a needed bath. Once dinner was simmering, she pulled out the basin and set it behind the curtained alcove in the kitchen. Her bath was too hot, but soothing to her tired back. The dim morning had given way to a bright afternoon, and she was thankful. Having worked so hard, she could rest for a few hours with a book, which would have been impossible earlier. 

As she finished her bath and dressed in fresh clothes, she heard the unmistakable sound of the wheel. Belle smiled. How odd she must be, looking forward to seeing him. Before she left, she set the tea tray out and made sure everything was ready for whenever Rumpelstiltskin demanded it.

She left the kitchens and took her favorite book with her. As she walked through the Great Room, Rumpelstiltskin stood from his spinning and bowed, half sincere and half mocking. “My lady.”

Belle, having learned to appreciate his humor, replied in kind with a gracious curtsey.

“You are flushed, dearie. Either I am rather dashing today, or your bath was overheated.”

Glad for her already pink complexion, Belle had a ready answer. “Exertion, actually. I mopped the entry hall.” She settled into a chair with good light. “You shouldn’t discuss a lady’s bath. It’s unseemly.”

He flattened his palms to his chest in mimicked outrage. “Are you scolding me?”

“I’m reminding you of your manners.”

“I’ve no use for manners. A good scolding might go farther.” He flipped a salute and sat at the wheel again once he heard her laugh. Within seconds he was spinning again and the soft noises of the wheel and his intermittent adjustments soothed her into her book.

And yet she could not read. Her mind buzzed instead. Somewhere along the way, this was less the martyr sacrificing her life and more just… life. There was a timing and rhythm to life in his castle, much like his wheel, and whether she had fallen in step, or had helped create it, she could not say, but there it was. 

She certainly had no illusions about Rumpelstiltskin. There was darkness in him that blackened his moods, soured his humanity, and changed his very skin. Early on, when he was in particularly foul moods, he would tell her stories of the horrid things he had done, just to shock and disgust her.

She turned a page without seeing any words. It was just something she knew her hands should do.

But he was not what people said about him either. She was his servant, so he was under no obligation to ensure that her pillows were covered by the finest silk or that the tea he provided for her personal use was fragranced with the finest blooms from the East.

Yet they were.

He had been a man once, too; a man with a cherished son. She found the tiny clothes, rough from wear and poverty, carefully preserved and sequestered from the gaudy treasures on display. These were things not meant for casual eyes, not meant to impress. Handmade toys, polished from handling and chipped from play, nestled alongside tiny bowls and hand carved spoons. There were objects that were used every day. The kinds of objects a father might clutch to his chest in remembrance.

He was the dealmaker, though. She was living proof of that, though she maintained that the benefit far outstripped the payment. Even so, he clearly did not deal so cleanly with everyone, or perhaps others tried to avoid payment. The way he spoke, many of his deals were not for honorable reasons, so if the less than honorable sought him out, then attempted to back out, well… She wasn’t sure people weren’t receiving their due in those cases.

Was this proof of her corruption?

“What are you ruminating on?” He was standing over her. Looming.

Belle started violently. “I was just reading.”

Rumpelstiltskin stepped back as she sat up straight in the chair and brushed her hair back. “I asked for tea.” Belle stood to go to the kitchens, but Rumpelstiltskin stepped aside, revealing the tray on the table. “I asked for tea more than twenty minutes ago. I took the liberty of fetching it and, since you are so absorbed, dearie,” he glanced at the book, “I thought I would make it for us myself.”

“Oh.” Belle felt the heat rise in her face again. “I’m sorry; it’s a very interesting book.”

“Of course it is." He bent and placed his lips by her ear. "I'm sure that's why you only turned one page." He slid back and swept a hand towards the table. "Come, sit.” He held a chair for her and pushed it in as she sat.

Belle’s eyes gravitated to the tray as he opened the wooden tea box. Instead of using the spoon, he raised the box and measured by eye as he shook dried leaves into the pot. His eyes were focused on the falling tea, and when he was satisfied, he tipped the box up with a shake to settle the contents again. The box was set down and latched with a caress. He did not have slender, elegant hands. They were hands that knew work- work that required strength, precision, and repetition. When he spun, those hands controlled the product by touch, adjusting the pressure and tension with mere intent, rather than conscious effort.

Hot water struck the leaves and the ensuing burst of scent made her breathe in. Rumpelstiltskin settled the teapot’s lid back with a faint porcelain ring. He set out their cups next, protectively fingering the chip in his. Belle glanced up and saw that he was watching her.

Her breath caught in her throat and her belly flipped. 

“You’re quite flushed again, my dear. Perhaps you should avoid such steamy baths.”

Belle’s tongue caught for a moment, but two could play. “Maybe it was all the exertion.”

Rumpelstiltskin set the silver strainer on her cup and poured. “Then perhaps you should choose your exertions more carefully.”

She took her cup from him. Courage fueled her audacity. “Perhaps I should.”

He sloshed tea into his saucer.


	6. Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first days after the curse breaks, Rumpelstiltskin watches over Belle as she sleeps.

Rumpelstiltskin was exhausted. He hadn’t slept for more than an hour at a time for the past two days. He’d awaken in a panic and have to spend some minutes calming back down again. Trying to do it all while sitting up wasn’t helpful, either.

Holding Belle’s hand helped. Seeing her face, as beautiful as the day he threw her out, helped, too. Watching Belle press her face into his pillow and sigh in her sleep was in no way, shape or form a balm to his long-shelved masculinity.

And right now that urge to protect was at a fever pitch despite his eyes crossing in the wee hours. The initial euphoria of seeing her, disoriented, wearing hospital garb and a stolen coat, had slackened as the town awoke from its slumber. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t need all the details to know what had happened to her, and what she needed now was real sleep in a comfortable bed and someone to watch over her.

“Rumpelst…” She murmured.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He gently squeezed her hand and pulled the comforter up for her. A spike of pain shot through his knee as he twisted back into place. He remained at the ready, should anyone dream of banging on his door like they harassed the Queen, but most of the town was too busy with resurfaced memories and missing persons posters to bother with him. At least, not yet.

“Rumpel.” Belle’s free hand was clutching the pillow.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m here.” Somewhere in the expanse of time and realms, she changed from ‘dearie’ like everyone he’d patronized, to ‘dear’, then simply ‘Belle’. Since awakening in Storybrooke after twenty-eight years and seeing her face, she was now his sweetheart. And apparently he was Rumpel.

Storybrooke was a strange place. 

It was just as dangerous these days as any ogre plagued land and as full of mysteries as the Enchanted Forest. At least the food was bad.  
Rumpelstiltskin’s head lolled back to touch the heavily carved headboard. He rested it gratefully for a moment, letting the dizziness overtake him.

“Mmmm…” Belle stirred in her sleep. This was her second night of real sleep, so she was bound to be sleeping more lightly, he assumed.

“Belle?” It was still very dark but the first birds were calling intermittently. It was probably near five in the morning. “Sweetheart?”

“Mmmm, Rumpel.” She squeezed his pillow and tucked her face into it, breathing in. Her whole body was moving under the bedding and he waited for her to sit up. Instead, she let out a soft moan.

Oh.

There was no way to not hear the erotic tone in her voice. Mercifully, it only lasted a minute or two but the sound might take him years to get over. In the meantime he sat, faithfully holding her hand so she knew he was there. What she was doing to him in her dreams, he could only guess. 

The adrenaline fuelled moment passed and he was bone tired again, and the morning hours came with a chill. By the time the sun was truly making an effort to cut the morning fog, he was periodically shivering; the only warmth he knew was clutched in his hand. 

She shifted again, and stretched under the bedding, her movements nothing like what he’d watched earlier. Belle’s hair caught the light and glinted hints of fiery red and gold buried within the rich brown. Blue eyes opened and squinted up at him. “Hey. You’re still here.”

“Of course. It’s my house, where would I go?”

She smiled and shrugged, bunching the collar of his softest shirt. “I don’t know. To bed?”

“You’re in it.”

She was so lovely when she blushed. “I’m sorry. You should have put me somewhere else.”

“You can have your pick of the beds in my house.”

She dropped her eyes. “Is it okay if I stay here?”

There was no way to hide his pleasure. “I rather like that.”

She sat up and stretched again, then leaned over to hug him. “You’re freezing! Why didn’t you get in and stay warm?”

“Current events demanded that I watch over you, sweetheart. You needed rest.”

“So do you. You look awful.” She picked up the edge of the sheet and pulled it from under him. His couldn’t help seeing her bare legs nestled against his sheets. “So help me, Rumpel, lay down now and close your eyes.”

He did as she ordered and lay on his side a respectful distance from her. This side of the bed was chilly despite him sitting on it all night. Warming up would take time, but he pulled the comforter up to his ears and tucked his feet together.

Belle moved hesitantly, but after a light touch to his shoulder and another on his arm, she slid up behind him and wrapped a warm arm over him. “Hush, Rumpel.” She crooned. “Let me help you sleep now.” She let her cheek rest against the back of his neck.

He relaxed into her soft warmth, too tired and grateful to overthink their position yet. Then he laughed.

“What?” Belle mumbled sleepily. “Is this funny? Have I done something strange?”

“No sweetheart. You called me Rumpel.”

She stiffened. “I suppose I did. Yes.”

He turned his head and kissed her forehead. “Just answer one question.” 

She lifted her head slightly as she listened. “Alright.”

“Am I better than a pillow?”

She snuggled back down and kissed the back of his neck before resting her cheek there again. “Much better. Now go to sleep.”


	7. Overwrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle's scrambled memories require special attention. Rumpelstiltskin suggests a modification to her approach. Rating likely to change soon.

Belle’s attention drifted once again, and her breakfast was growing cold.

Rumpelstiltskin nudged her gently. “Sweetheart? Belle? Are you alright?”

“Hmmm?” He could always bring her around. “Sorry. I was thinking again. Did we, um… did we drink a lot of tea there?”

“You mean at my castle? Yes, I suppose we did.” Rumpelstiltskin held up his cup. “Why?”

“Oh.” Belle rubbed her forehead. “I seem to remember also drinking liquor. And driving a car. We didn’t have cars.”

“No. Carriages. With horses.”

“And there aren’t horses everywhere here.”

“Only at the stables.” He set down his cup and abandoned his breakfast. The last few days had been hard. Only a week since the curse had lifted, and her mind was beginning to sort through the debris. “Belle?”

“You know how you have memories? Ones that don’t belong to you.” She held the sides of her face. Rumpelstiltskin thought she looked like she was holding her head together.

“Yes. I feel like I have two lives.”

“I think I have three.” Belle sighed with a shake. “And my memories of two of them aren’t very nice.”

Without a thought, Rumpelstiltskin shoved his plate aside and hauled himself out of his chair and held her. “Then we’ll have to replace those with good ones, won’t we?”

…

Belle decided she liked kissing. Kissing was an excellent way to dispel some of the habitual cold that crept into her from remembered cement walls or the ringing in her ears from loud phantom music. There were many kinds of kisses and when her Rumpel asked her which she liked best she laughed and told him she hadn’t decided yet.

There were quick kisses good morning that became something a little slower once they’d both visited the bathroom. She usually woke him by kissing his cheek and jaw, feeling the night’s stubble and rubbing her lips against it because it felt so different. Or she’d draw his soft hair aside and kiss the back of his neck until he relented and kissed back. When they’d both freshened up, they’d linger before making breakfast.

She never saw the way his eyes trailed after her, especially when she wore her soft gray nightgown.

Then there was the kiss over tea. She brought it to his office, or the coffee table, or wherever he was and always managed to plant a kiss on him somewhere between adding milk and handing it over. She especially liked any kiss where they were both standing and had been apart for more than an hour or so. Those times called for the ‘big hug’ kiss. She wrap her arms around him and make sure he knew she was still there, and in no hurry to go anywhere.

The plan was working quite well, and she’d deemed it important that they should kiss in every room of his house. Then probably do it all over again just to make sure they’d done it right. Maybe in every place in town, just so every terrible or confusing memory could have a pleasant counterpart.

“Rumpel?” She called from the living room. Any time an unpleasant memory surfaced, she sought him out. It was about six days into her plan, and she was in need of a fix. He didn’t complain, but any zeal he had for random lip pressing had obviously begun to flag.

“Closet.” She found him hanging up his suits, just back from the cleaners, as crisp and perfect as a row of new books on a shelf. He normally kept them in a particular order, but at the distress on her face he hung up the lot in a quick move and came to her. “Is it bad?”

“Yes. Awful.” She started plucking at a loose string hanging from her shirt. “When I was in the hospital I sometimes I thought I was back in your dungeon.” She hung her head low.

Rumpelstiltskin caressed her arm. “Oh, Belle. I’m so, so, sorr-“

“Those were the really good days.”

He dropped his hand from her like she’d burned him. “I… I don’t…”

“Just let me kiss you, Rumpel.” Belle leaned up to him and put her arms around him. 

He leaned back, a quick hobble to brace his weight properly. “No.” 

She stopped pulling at him. “No?” Belle searched his face for a hint of rejection or disinterest. 

“No, Belle.” He tugged her arms from around his neck and set them at her sides. “No, I would like to kiss you.”

Belle mouthed words silently, her eyes beginning to water with frustration. “But, I thought we were kissing together?” She reached out to him and held his forearms. “Is it not good? Am I not doing it right?” 

Rumpelstiltskin steered her backwards. “Oh, sweetheart. If only you knew how much the last few days have meant to me. But,” her back bumped into the wall by the doorway to the closet, “If we are to replace such nasty memories with good ones, it seems we need to up the ante.” He released her brought a hand to her cheek while bracing his weight against the wall with the forearm. “And while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I would like to try a different approach to your favorite pastime.”

He was all around her, but only touched her cheek. It made Belle’s head fuzzy to have him fill her vision and surround her at the same time. The claustrophobic space only made him more overwhelming. 

“Rumpel?” Belle whispered.

He had leaned forward, just enough to barely touch his lips and the tip of his nose to her other cheek, causing her eyes to flutter closed. Once he moved, he left behind a tingly path. His soft breathing and occasional sighs made flutters erupt in her belly and warmth spread across her skin. When he was by her ear, he traced the outer rim and exhaled.

She sucked in a gasp.

His lips curved against her.

“How do you like my approach so far?” Rumpelstiltskin rumbled into the tender place behind her ear.

Belle’s eyes stayed closed and her breath struggled to find purchase to make sound with. “You still haven’t kissed me.” Even in her own ears her voice sounded needy.

He pulled away from her neck. “You’re right. I haven’t.” To emphasize what he wasn’t doing, he pressed his body closer to hers and brushed his lips along her forehead. Instead of the full bodied, crushing hugs she gave him, he stood and let them share the same space. Well-timed inhales meant he would feel her entire body against his torso, which was happening more and more often. 

Belle was getting excited.

“Do you feel that, Belle? The heat rising up your chest, the way your face burns and your knees aren’t sure how to keep you up?”

She swallowed. He could hear it. “Yes.”

He slid his hand down from her cheek to her waist. “Do you feel your stomach flip every time I touch you?” He flicked out his tongue to brush her ear. 

Belle moaned. “Oh, yes.”

Rumpelstiltskin nearly gave up just for that sound, but if he was going to play, he was playing the long game. He was already demonstrating how much he was enjoying himself.

“And what else are you feeling, Belle?” He drew his path so he could feel the bridge of her nose under his lips as he spoke. “Tell me.”

“I’m…I…” Belle sputtered. The wall pressed at her like it obeyed his demands to hold her up, his upper arm was by her head, his hand was spreading across the curve in her back and he was everywhere with his voice and his nose and his lips and they were just out of reach and…

Belle arched against him. Rumpelstiltskin breathed in sharply as her body pressed against his in a wave that started mid-thigh. He clutched the wall and couldn’t help gripping her as she ground herself against him, then pushed her breasts against his chest, then he grabbed the doorframe when she did it all one more time with greater intent. 

When they’d both backed off and opened their eyes again, Belle was flushed bright pink and his clothes were disheveled. He’d also managed to knock the ones he’d just hung up to the floor in an effort to stay on his feet.

Belle half stumbled out of the closet and into the bedroom. She licked her lips and gazed at him with glossy eyes. “You still haven’t kissed me.”

Rumpelstiltskin stepped out behind her after a quick adjustment to his dignity and stared at her. She looked delicious- all wild curls, pink cheeks, sparkling with want, and completely without the haunted thoughts that brought her there in the first place. He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip and admired his handiwork.

“You’re right. I haven’t yet.”


	8. Unwound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory curses are tricky things. Sometimes jogging the mind can result in a fulfillment of the senses.
> 
> Or, the chapter where we change the rating.

Rumpelstiltskin filed documents away in his sliding drawers and locked them. He had a particular affection for maps, especially those that included man-made structures. There were few things more impressive than the giant, high-tech, utterly stupid dams people built in this world. They were monuments to ego, the idea that man could command a force as powerful as water to stay behind sand and rock. No less than a hundred had failed, sometimes spectacularly, and the devastation they left behind was breathtaking.  


It was also beautiful in a way- Nature reclaimed her territory and with mere water could alter the landscape back to her preference.  
You might as well cast a curse to stop True Love. 

But that’s not what was cast. What they had on their hands was a memory curse, and in its wake it left disorder, chaos, and the occasional lost bit of information. But then, it was the nature of the cursed mind to protect the lie, providing distraction with internal compensation. Throwing it off could take time, even for him and all the breadcrumbs he left for himself. His entire life was full of relics and reminders.

Something was still missing.  


Then he saw the box.  
…  
Rumpelstiltskin tossed his jacket on his home office desk and sat at the wheel, facing the wall. 

Coward. He faced the wall because he wasn't sure if he desperately wanted to see her face as she entered the room or if he would rather run and hide. There was no telling exactly which memories were still obscured and which weren't. Seeing him at the wheel may trigger her worst memories of him. If it did, why on earth would she stay? He'd raged and thrown her out, after all. 

The front door opened, and Belle came in, calling for him.

With a mixture of fear and hope, he placed his hand upon the wheel and gave it a push, and held his breath.

  
…  


Earlier…  


Belle filed away another load of books that she’d checked for damage or writing and wheeled around her library. Shelves were filling up slowly with the treasures she found in the boxes, and as she filled one, she cleaned the next and kept on going. The books were dusty at best and falling apart at worst, so she ordered binding glue and a book press and learned to repair them.

She was a bit of an expert at rehabilitation.  


The last few weeks had been an object lesson in hearts growing fonder. However, there was always a catch in her mind, like things were off kilter and out of control. She yearned for quiet time and closeness, but there was no time to be had and no excuse to just be with him. They were both busy and he had his hands very full.

The last few days made her yearn for more than just quiet time. Flips in her belly whenever she thought of his closet kept her from even putting the empty hangers back anymore.

Belle paused as she cleared away her work for the afternoon and touched her lips. There had been no more kisses since the closet. It almost hurt, but they had both shied away without avoiding one another- their time together now was affectionate but heavy with longing gazes, half bitten jests that fell flat before they were spoken, and almost painful want.

Belle wanted, and she wasn’t young or naïve enough to claim that she didn’t know what it was. She was no silly girl, and had not been for a very long while. The goings-on between women and men had been no secret in her world. Since she’d settled in enough to acclimate, the moment and mood simply hadn’t been right yet.

She walked home, tottering a little on the heels she borrowed from Ruby. Her wardrobe was an evolving thing for her here, and she test drove everything from chunky sweaters with jeans to pencil skirts with heels. Today she had to draw her jacket tightly around herself, as the thin-strapped camisole and flippy skirt offered little warmth from the wind. The chill in the air heralded the rain and storms not far behind, and Belle barely made it back to Rumpelstiltskin’s big house before being completely soaked.

The last faded light caught in the stained glass panels, casting the memory of their colors on the wood floor. Belle slipped off her jacket, laid it over a chair and kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief. “Rumpel? I’m home.”

There was only the faint sound of wood bumping together coming from the hallway. “Rumpel?”

A rhythmic noise, sweet in its familiarity and full of memory, filled her ears, and she followed it.

…  


Footsteps in the hallway.  


Something was missing from her mind, taken by the curse he had wrought, and as much as he wanted to hold her, keep her, take her, she had to have the option to walk away. He was willing to risk even that, though, in order to give her back anything he could. Like a case of informed consent, he would only continue living like this if she remembered everything. If the wheel had unlocked memories of them together for him, it would do the same for her.

It was too quiet. Maybe she had walked away. Rumpelstiltskin's stomach tied itself in knots and he squeezed his eyes shut. He expected her anger, frustration, maybe even her pity, and he probably deserved some hatred as well.  
What he did not expect were the hands on his shoulders, the chill in her hands immediately sinking into his skin through his shirt.  


"Oh, Rumpel. I remember." She whispered. "I remember everything."

He would not hang his head, despite his shame. "I'm so sorry, Belle."

She sat beside him, facing the other way but tugging at his shoulder to turn him from the wheel. Those blue eyes were clear and bright, and they fixed on him. He swam in them, knowing that her mind must be turning through the pages of their days at the castle with new eyes. What new tint had they gained?

"You were so different, then. But still the same." She murmured and leaned towards him, brushing her hand over his hair. Her other hand drifted down and took his hand off the wheel. "No embroidery." She smiled softly, fingering the cuff. "I could fix that for you."  
Rumpelstiltskin's breath rushed out like her words had pressed it from him. "You do remember." He let her turn him more fully. They were so close he could feel the heat from her face on his- the faintest touches of their noses.

"Yes, I do." Her lips barely grazed his as she spoke, every sound the faintest brush. "We've been here before. On this bench. Like this."

He swallowed hard. "Yes, we have."

"I remember what happened last time."

His lips parted, the agony of memory worse than he expected. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry. Please."

She stilled. "I know." Belle's lips brushed against his. "I love you."

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed the words and pressed forward as he had once before, a world away. Instead of a terrifying change beginning, he felt warmth explode through him with relief and gratitude. He'd expected so much less, even desertion. When he started to draw away, ready to explain himself, the hand that had been in his shoulder and toying with his hair held him firm.

She kissed him harder.

  
…

Belle parted her lips and slid her tongue to lick at Rumpelstiltskin’s lower lip. With a grunt muffled by breath and shifting fabric, his arms wrapped around her, cupping her shoulder blades and stroking her upper back, exposed by her top. He held her, one hand sliding down to her lower back and up again.

She arched under his touch, and once her head leaned back her neck was attended to. As she gasped, Rumpelstiltskin’s kisses slipped over her skin and set her already heated skin ablaze. She had little frame of reference she could call her own, and so when his teeth grazed her, she jumped and was nearly in his lap.

“Rumpel!”  
But Rumpelstiltskin was beyond words at the moment, and his hands caressed her bare shoulders, curling his fingers around the thin straps and smoothing them out again. Belle’s breath was fast and her heart pounded like it would fly out of her and she arched in his hands, rocking her pelvis against his side and pushing a breast into him. One strap finally slipped over her shoulder and suddenly he stilled, resting his forehead against hers.

“Belle, come with me?”

“Anywhere.” She took his mouth again, pressing her tongue into his mouth and swiping at the musk and magic he was filled with. His low groan made her lurch.

A hand, warm and smooth, cupped her cheek and another tugged at her elbow. He stood after her and kissed her again, walking her backwards down the hall past the tables of trinkets and treasures. She took hold of his tie and tugged at him, and in response he pushed her against the wall.

“Not in much of a hurry?” She teased when they paused.

He pressed himself against her and nipped at her ear, bracing himself against the wall with one hand and his cane with the other. “I was debating the merits of the wall as a final destination, but I find other places make a more compelling argument at the moment.” He dragged his lips along her neck, ending with a lick that made Belle shudder. “Not much further.” 

…

It would have been a crime to do this against a wall on the first time, but thirty years was thirty years. Even a man asleep can feel the passage of time, and the stab of longing was in no way dulled by her simple presence. If anything it made it sharper, but the pain radiating up his leg was enough to slow him down. 

Slow, but not stop, and he leaned against her more fully, bracing his weight against the wall between her legs with his good knee. Belle fidgeted with the buttons of his shirt, pressing back at him with her entire body.

“I like this.” Rumpelstiltskin murmured against her neck as he reached down to her thigh and ran his hand along her leg to her hip. Then he ran his nose along her bare shoulder, breathing in. “And this, too.”

Belle had his shirt half unbuttoned, but her hands had drifted to a stop, just gripping the fine weave and hanging. She shook her head and pulled on the open sides, forcing him back to her mouth for a slippery kiss full of demands to make up for lost time. Together they pushed away from the wall, taking turns leading one another down the hall to the room they shared.

Hands clutched and loosened fabric. Having one hand occupied with his cane slowed him down, but as Belle was decidedly more simply dressed he was hardly at a disadvantage. By the time she had him backed up to the dresser, bumping the cane from his hand with a loud clatter, his shirt was untucked and she had his undershirt half pulled from his trousers. Her camisole had long been freed from the skirt, runched at her waist, but he had not dared trespass yet.

But now, with their long-abused hearts pounding and held breath panting over each other, safe from the magic and the mobs, their hands did more than just reach. Belle’s hands traced the dip of his spine, around his waist and up his chest, dragging the shirt up with her arm. Glassy eyes drifted down to gaze, but Rumpelstiltskin was no bystander, and thirty years was thirty years.

As soon as Belle lifted his undershirt off him, he pushed her back towards the bed. As she walked back, his hands pulled the silk and lace, pulling the pretty thing off of her in a heartbeat and leading her to sit upon the bed.

“I’m going to have to rethink my plans.” He ground out, stepping between her parted legs and tilting her chin up.

“What plans?”

“I’ve got three meetings in the morning, a shop to run, rents to collect, and a promise not to kill the woman who kept us separated for far, far too long.” He traced a finger along the edge of her delicate bra and smiled at the way her eyes fluttered shut. “I think it will take about six months and several revenge curses just to take the edge off how I feel right now.”

Belle smiled and loosened her bra. “I can always hire a book binder, Rumpel, but you have to make good on a few things.” She reached up and tugged on the back of his neck for another kiss. “Besides, I’d rather not think about… anything right now.” She gave his neck a tentative lick and the jolt forced his body to surge forward. His trousers and the fine tailoring he favored did little to hide her effect on him.

Her hands trembled and went to his belt.

“No, sweetheart. Let me do this my way.” He gave her knees a nudge so she scooted fully onto the bed. When she leaned back, he loosened and removed his belt, and left himself unfastened, but no more. “It’s been a long time, but I do remember how to do things right.”

He gazed over her as he joined her on the bed and propped up on an elbow beside her. She was all curves and lush softness, the ideal of beauty in their world and this one, truth be told. Lovely slanting eyes with jewels peering out and cherry red lips, swollen from his kisses, all set in the fairest skin and framed by dark hair that defied any efforts to control it were the envy of any man and here she was, in his bed.

He never anticipated this. If he had he would have added a layer to the curse to keep her safe.

His kisses grew slower and his hands drifted from her face to her shoulders, and along the side of her breast, still lightly covered by the bra. In a movement designed to be stopped if she wanted, he drew it away and set it aside. Belle bowed up, for he had his mouth on her even before his eyes. 

“Oh, Rumpel.” Belle’s voice was roughening in her passion. 

“You are so soft, Belle. I always knew you would be.” He held her nipple in his mouth and stroked with his tongue before letting her slide out. “Perfect.”

Her legs began to draw up and straighten as he moved down her body. Delicate collarbones needed care, as did her sternum and the fragrant skin between her breasts. “I dreamed of this, Belle. I dreamed of you, of us, even when I’d lost hope. Then my dreams tormented and drove me.” 

The tiny zipper on the side of her skirt swept down and allowed a peek of lace trimmed satin underneath. That would never be good enough. She would have silk from now on. Only fine silk should cosset her treasures. 

“I didn’t know who I was.” She gasped. “I only knew that there was someone who loved me, no matter how hard she made tried to make me forget or hate you. I always knew.”

Rumpelstiltskin ran his palm along the inside of her lower leg, pausing at the knee.

Without added pressure, Belle let her knees fall open. Swallowing hard over the spasm in his throat, he traced along the inside of her knee with his fingertips and kissed the breath out of her. Belle clutched at his hair, his neck, grabbed his chest, and finally turned partway onto her side, opening her body to him completely. Her leg hitched high on his hip and forced him to abandon the slow path. He cupped her sex fully in his hand and was scorched by her heat. 

“Belle, my god, Belle.”

Without warning, Belle cupped him back and he thrust against the new pressure without intending to. Rumpelstiltskin moaned and kissed her hard, pushing and stroking her tongue with his. He felt her smile.

“So, that’s how it’s done?” 

“Not quite, but it’s a nice start.” In retaliation, he pulled at her skirt and tugged the band of her panties. “I have an even better one in mind, though.”

Once her clothes were off, he ran his hands over every bit of her. Her curvy hips led to strong thighs and slim ankles, all of which he swore he would do more justice to at a later date. She looked at him with dilated eyes when he shifted over one leg and lay between her knees.

“Rumpel, what are you do-“ 

There was no greater pleasure, in his mind, than rendering a smart woman speechless. In his life, most of the time he did, indeed, do it with his mouth, but generally with words, not with his tongue sliding around in slick, musky flesh and his lips suckling at the soft folds. 

Soft folds that thickened and became firmer and plump in his mouth. There was only one word for it.

“Belle, you are ripe.” 

As he worked her with his lips and tongue, she moved in counterpoint to him, rubbing herself against his face as he brought her closer and closer. He looked up to see her writhing, face contorted in ecstasy and her hands grasping at anything in reach. They should be grasping him, but not yet. He brought a hand up to her heat and pressed a finger forward under his chin.  
He needed this. Needed to feel her all through and around him in a reply to the decades and centuries of deprivation and loneliness. Need and desperation made a man a coward and a monster. Desperation made him clutch her thighs to his shoulders, and need made him shove his tongue as deep as he could.

With a jerk, she rocked her body down and tightened around him, a flood of fresh musk meeting his senses. Another minute of suckling and stroking and her whole body thrummed, leaving her quivering and calling for him. 

“Rumpel, please! Come here.”

He pushed his trousers off and with his weight braced on three points and the fourth just for balance, he crawled up her body, dragging himself along to touch his lips to every bit he could manage until she had hold of his shoulders and began hauling him up. Belle held him between her legs, squeezing and stroking his thighs with her calves and his flanks with her thighs. 

“Sweetheart, slow down.”

“I’ve waited a very, very long time. I’m not waiting any more, Rumpelstiltskin.” She reached down and plucked at his underwear, grasping him artlessly through them. They shoved them down and he kicked them off and groaned when he first felt her sliding heat against his head. Belle stroked him with her body, without artifice, bowing her body to touch him. 

There was no magic more full of wonder than this. A woman in her prime, flushed with passion and ready. Ragged moans crept from red lips, breaths huffed on his chest and an arched neck stained a deep pink that extended all the way to her sex.

With a firm kiss he pushed forward and held his breath. There was no other woman in the world that had the power over him that she did. Even now, as he sank into her from above, her very breath was the thread that held his joints together, her pounding heartbeat the timepiece, and her heart the only reason he had to be better than he was.

“Thank you, Belle.” He breathed into her ear.

Her heat pulsed around him, and he thrust gently as much for himself as for her. There was no need for showmanship, no need for acrobatics, for he was too old for that anyway. What they did need was to hold and touch, taste and hear each other. 

“So much taken away, Belle. So much lost.”

She clung to him, wrapping her legs around him and holding him tight so they would not be blown away by tender ferocity. 

“Not lost anymore.” 

Rumpelstiltskin half-moaned and half sobbed at the thought. The caress of her sex, the slide of their skin, and the brush of lips that had forgot all words but still knew how to kiss his only anchor to this reality. Any other was pointess.

He pressed harder and let himself feel the welcoming squeeze in counter to the tightening knot deep in his body. Belle sighed as he sped up and thrust harder, deeper and she rocked to meet him, encouraging him with her low gasps and moans. 

“Yes, yes, please!”

His drive tempered by her tender care made for strength and power that moved with and for them both. When it came for him, decades, perhaps centuries, of pent up need and longing bubbled through his veins and found solace in her embrace. She kissed his face and stroked his neck, strained and drooping with exertion, and held him within her until he fell away and they both dozed.

“I love you Belle.” He whispered later, waking her to pepper her lips and neck with kisses and smoothed back her hair. “I’ve loved you for so long, even when I didn’t remember.”

“I remember you now. I remember all of you.” Belle glanced around the room. The wreckage of pulled drawers, flung clothing, and a severely mussed bed made her laugh. “You know, I could keep house a bit for you.”

“Only if you end up here at the end of the day. And I won’t have you overexerting.”

“Fine.” She smiled. “No mopping floors. But,” She reached down and picked up his shirt from the edge of the bed, “I could do something with these cuffs.”

He took the shirt and tossed it to the floor. “Later.” He grabbed one of her legs by the ankle and stroked her calf. “First I need to properly show you how much I appreciate your lovely curves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Rumbelle fans are so enthusiastic and fabulous! 
> 
> I like the world I made, and I may add to this story, or possibly create a Spun-verse. Stay tuned, and thanks again!


End file.
